The Yankee Doodled
by SmallCat1776
Summary: King George learns of Benedict Arnold's turning.


**London, England**

 **November 1780**

"Your Majesty, a word with you?"

The clerk stepped forward into the dimly lit throne room, where a solitary figure paced about in silence. The man stood expressionless, gazing out the window as a column of Regulars, _his_ Regulars, paraded in review, their scarlet coats crisply pressed and their buckles and firelocks gleaming in the setting sun. They were King's men, loyal to him and to him alone. His army, whose might would soon be summoned in full force to break the backs of the insolent rebellion in America.

It would be a short war, the King mused quietly to himself. The rabble's "Continental Army," as they appeared to call themselves, were a battered collection of insolent farmers, brigands, and ill-tempered upstarts, no match at all for the pride of the King's Army. _His_ army, he thought again. The army Parliament's voice had willed into creation, the army that, as far as the King knew, held no equal on this earth. The Regulars were a wall of steel and flesh and fire, an unstoppable bulwark of imperial pride and stalwart collective effort, whose prowess on the field could hardly be considered inferior to a ragged band of starving rebels. So, what if Burgoyne had blundered his way into disaster at Saratoga? So, what if the rumors of a French alliance with the American upstarts were appearing more real than previously anticipated? The King felt no concern at these whispers. He was George Frederick, King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, master and commander of legions of disciplined soldiers and supreme lord of the greatest naval power in the world. No, he thought. The rebellion may have won the upper hand for now, but when the newest reinforcements arrived in the Colonies things would surely change. Clinton and Cornwallis would gladly put a stop to this wretched revolt as soon as their forces received proper support.

Providing he could persuade Parliament to give him the funding for another army.

 _Parliament,_ ha! The word stank of politicking and corruption, and he detested it. The posh, over-dressed mockeries of politicians, with their powdered wigs and their false accents and their talks of peace and dissent and other such things. How dare they deny him the right to win _his_ war! How dare some of them whisper of cries for _peace_ with the traitorous rebellion, even as the King's southern armies shattered the upstarts and broke the back of Washington's own command? How could any of them speak of public opinion turning against the war being fought in the far-distant Colonies, even as Clinton's northern forces bore down upon the demoralized Americans and stole away their hope? He was the _King!_ His authority was meant to be the divine right of providence, his very word absolute! How dare his own staff and advisors question _his_ authority?

He shook his head, pacing to and fro across the tiles of his chamber, hands clasped tightly behind him while he glanced about him and pondered his queries. He would have victory, that much was certain. Damn Parliament, damn the doubters and the peasants who found reason to question their monarch's will. He didn't need them. He still had enough support to raise another force and the will to make the rebels pay in blood for their treachery and oppression.

If they did not fear him now, Washington and his Continentals would soon face their monarch's wrath, a wrath so cold and unforgiving that none would survive the repercussions of his anger.

"Your Majesty…" The clerk's voice interrupted the King's scheming. He turned sharply upon his heel, seething with rage.

"Damn your hide, Bill, I told you _not_ to interrupt me again!" He rolled his eyes. "What the Devil gives you the right to enter your King's chambers without requesting an audience?"

"This concerns the war in America, my liege. Benedict Arnold has betrayed the rebel cause. They refused him what he was owed for his services, so in retaliation he has declared loyalty to the Crown and denounced Washington."

The King's mouth twitched, and he stopped pacing. He turned his head sharply in Bill's direction, a look of astonishment growing wider on his face.

"I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? Did you just inform me that Benedict Arnold, the same chap who trounced Johnny Burgoyne at Saratoga… has decided to join _me_?"

"That is correct, Your Majesty. Although the turncoat failed to deliver plans of the rebel fortifications at West Point over to Sir Henry Clinton, he has in fact been granted a commission in the King's—er— _your_ Army as a Brigadier General and has been authorized to rouse a detachment of Tories to help conduct your war in America."

For a moment, it appeared to Bill as though the King would collapse to the ground. He waivered on his feet unsteadily, looking first to the left, then to the right, then up into the sky, then all around him as if in a confused daze. He started to stumble backwards, and Bill reached out to him, intending to help him keep his feet.

"Keep off me, you fool!" The King snapped, shooting an uncompromising glare towards Bill who staggered away looking rather perplexed. For a moment, silence lingered over the entire chamber, and nothing stirred. Then at length, after all had settled for a time, the King of England began to dance a merry jig, clapping his hands and grinning like a schoolboy.

"Huzzah, huzzah, huzzah!" he cried, extending his hands towards the heavens. "We shall have victory, oh yes we shall! Arnold is ours now! Arnold, the scourge of Saratoga, is now fighting for _me!_ For _me,_ Bill, can you imagine it?" He burst into a glorious song, dashing around his secretary:

" _Yankee Doodle went to town_

 _For to buy a firelock_

 _To thus depose the British Crown_

 _And name instead John Hancock!_

 _But he trusted another man_

 _Without much compensation_

 _And now the Yankee is Doodled_

 _While his friend serves the King's nation!_

 _Now Benny Arnold went to war_

 _With old Yankee Doodle_

 _But when the Yank refused to pay_

 _Old Arnold flip'd his noodle!_

 _Now he comes to London town,_

 _Dress'd in gold and scarlet_

 _And when he meets the traitor 'gain_

 _I'll let him hang the varlet!_

 _He fought against us at Valcour_

 _He took Ticonderoga_

 _Now Arnold shall lead Washington_

 _Straight to_ his _Saratoga!_

 _Arnold is the kind of man_

 _That King's-men all delight in_

 _For when old George refused to pay_

 _He thus refused their fightin'!_

 _So sing now, all Britannia's sons_

 _Confound the rebel traitors_

 _And may all Heav'n now reward_

 _Bold Arnold: none is greater!_

 _Death to the Sons of Liberty_

 _May treason's words confound them_

 _And may bold Benedict Arnold_

 _E'ermore presently hound them!"_


End file.
